


Tangled Lights

by CrimsonBeagle



Category: Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: Age Difference, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dom!Angie, F/F, Femslash, Light BDSM, Slow Burn, Tom Bashing, What Have I Done, Why Did I Write This?, sub!Star
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 09:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13385040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonBeagle/pseuds/CrimsonBeagle
Summary: Star is tangled up in christmas lights, Marco's out with Tom, and she needs some help getting off... I mean, out.





	Tangled Lights

**Author's Note:**

> Notes and Disclaimers:
> 
> The Please Don't Sue disclaimer: I do not own Star Vs. the Forces of Evil or its characters. They belong to Disney, Disney XD, and Daron Nefcy. The conversations between characters for the first page and a half or so come directly from the first two minutes of s02e19: "Friendenemies". This is a work of parody, and I make no profit from it.
> 
> The Really Obvious disclaimer: This is a story about the start of a relationship between a 14 year old fictional character, and a 40(ish) year old fictional character. Doing anything like this in real life should, and will, land you in prison. This is FICTION.
> 
> The Somewhat Obvious warning: "This story represents fictional characters who are canonically 14 (and who must remain canonically 14 to fit the continuity of the referenced episodes) having sexual experiences very much unlike those that 14 year-olds normally have or are in any way advised to have. Half of it is based on the experiences of people more than twice as old as the characters, the other half is outright impossible fantasy (and not always just the bits involving actual magic). If you are 14 years old, or otherwise a minor yourself, you frankly shouldn't be reading this. If, despite this site's and my best efforts, you are, please know that almost nothing that happens here (or elsewhere in Internet porn, in general) is a good point of comparison for a healthy teen romantic or sexual life."

_Okay, maybe I got a little carried away._ Star thought, looking down at the tangled mess of colored lights she was caught up in. She'd found a box of them in the attic, and they looked so pretty she just had to play with them. She had gotten lost in that weird tingly feeling after accidentally tying a knot in the wires around her wrist. It made her deliberately wrap more and more of the wire around her body. She'd tried to magic her way out, but that just made things worse. Now her arms were crossed, elbows touching and bound tightly to her chest, and she had no hope of getting out of this without help.

She shuffled to her door, bending awkwardly to turn the knob and leaving the door open behind her. It took twice as long to get to Marco's door than it normally would and she prayed his parents wouldn't see her like this. She could feel a flush rising up her neck, thinking about being seen tied up like this made the curious tingling intensify like when she touched herself at night.

Marco's door was closed. She banged her forehead against it twice, hard enough to produce a loud knock and waited a moment before opening his door. She could hear him on his computer and didn't want to risk a repeat of the day she had accidentally caught him watching something with his little friend sticking out of his trousers.

She stuck her head through the opening door. Marco was frantically typing at his laptop and didn't even look up at her. “Hey, Marco. Can I get your help with something?” She asked. She sounded embarrassed, and she wasn't sure if it was the situation she found herself in or the wicked little thrill running up her spine that made it evident in her voice.

“Can't help right now. I just found out there's a Mackie Hand movie marathon tonight. And I can't miss it.”

Star shuffled closer, looking over his shoulder to see the screen of his laptop. “Ooh. Who's Mackie Hand?” She asked. She honestly wanted to know, earth movies were fun. She recognized the actor from one of the sword-hand-dance movies Marco had shown her.

“He's the greatest martial-arts superstar who ever lived. He died thirty years ago while performing one of his own stunts on...” Marco paused, placing his hand over his heart. “Himself. Accidentally.” He leaned in closer to the screen. “Come on, come on, come on!” He chanted, standing up. Then he slammed his face into the keyboard, moaning in despair.

Star winced in sympathy as he started bashing his head with the screen. Marco didn't have the rock hard skull she had inherited from her dad's side of the family, where breaking things with your face was a sporting tradition as old as Mewni. That had to hurt him. “What is it? What's wrong?” She asked, hoping to distract him from hurting himself.

He paused in his bashing just long enough to angle the screen at her so she could see the bold red text, before sandwiching his head between it and the keyboard. “It's sold out.” He grumped.

“I'm sorry, little guy.” It was hard to pat his shoulder, she had to twist against her bindings and lean in. That just made the tingles worse.

“It's okay. It was just a once in a lifetime opportunity.” He mumbled into his keyboard. Marco was being such a drama queen. He had a whole shelf full of Mackie Hand movies in his room, probably the same ones they were playing at the marathon. Even if he didn't, he was the one who showed her how to pirate movies online.

Still, she should try and make him feel better. “Don't worry. I'm sure there's a chance you can still get a ticket.”

“Good things don't happen to me.” He complained.

What did he mean good things didn't happen to him? She happened to him, the ungrateful little git. A pillar of fire erupted from his desk, knocking them backwards before she had a chance to get really mad at him, filling the room with the stench of sulphur and too much cologne. It vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, leaving a three eyed, purple skinned demon standing on his desk licking at a rainbow snowcone

“Hey. What's up.” It was her ex. What was he doing here? Her heart started to pound, fury building. Uninvited, in her home.

“TOM!” Star and Marco exclaimed simultaneously, saying his name like an obscenity.

“What are you doing here?” Star said suspiciously, trying to point at him with her bound hands.

“Actually, I was wondering if we could hang out.” The demon boy said impishly.

Star rolled her eyes. “Ugh. No, no, no. A million times no!” She barked. When was he going to get that no meant no. That was the whole reason she'd broken up with the handsy little jerk, just 'cause they were kissing hadn't meant he could put his hands up her shirt. She could see Marco in the corner of her eye, brushing imaginary dirt of his pants as he stood up. She wished her hands were free so she could wave away the stank of Tom's cologne. He still hadn't learned that the whole point of the stuff was to be subtle, to captivate and draw people in, not to reek like a dockside man-whore.

Tom was up to something. There was something about his insufferable smile that gave it away. “Not with you, Star. I meant with Marco.” She gaped at him, he was definitely up to something. She began to gnaw on the bitter plastic coating the wires tangled around her. She was going to shake either the truth or an eye out of him as soon as she got free.

Marco sounded just as suspicious and angry as she felt. “Huh? Um... No.” Good. Tom could fuck right off.

Tom glanced away from them. “Oh, Okay then.” He turned to leave, the heatless flames of his portal bursting back to life. “I guess I'll have to find somebody else to go with to the Mackie Hand movie marathon.” He said tauntingly as he turned.

“Huh? What? Wait, you're a Mackie Hand fan?” Marco shook his head, incredulous. The flames vanished once more, all except a trail of fire from Tom's feet as he levitated himself off the desk to the floor.

“I'm a super fan.” He was lying. Star knew it.

“Why do you want to go with me?” Marco asked, still sounding doubtful.

“I really thought we connected that one time. Over ping-pong?”

“You kidnapped me. And threatened to kill me.” Marco had never told her that second part. Fucking Tom.

At least he had the grace to look a little ashamed. “Look, I know I've been a little... aggro in the past, and I'm sorry.” Tom pressed his hands together in supplication. “I promise not to get mad this time.”

Marco grabbed her shoulders, dragging her to the corner of the room and jarring loose the wire from her mouth. “What is he up to?” He asked quietly.

Star didn't know, but Marco really wanted to go to this thing. “I think you should go with him.” She told Marco hesitantly. “Go wait downstairs. I want a word with Tom before you leave.” Marco shot her a worried look. “I'll be fine. I know how to handle Tom.” She was going put the fear of Star in him.

“Fine.” He sighed. “I'll go get some snacks.”

Tom watched Marco leave. “Tom. A word, please.” It wasn't a request. She glared at him and wished she had a third eye, so she could glare at him in all his eyes. “What is your game here,”

Tom interrupted her. “No game, Starsh..,”

“Don't call me that!” She interrupted right back. “I'm warning you, Tom, just once. Marco really wants to go to this and he'd better have fun. If you're playing some game on him to get back with me,” Tom shook his head vigorously when she paused, “If he comes home tonight anything less than perfectly happy and healthy, I will shove those horns of yours so far up your ass you will be able to **taste** them. Without using magic. And I won't be breaking them off first. Marco. Has. Fun. Understand?” Star growled. He'd better believe her, she was perfectly serious.

Whatever passed for his blood had drained from his face and she could hear him swallow. Good. He believed her. “Understood.” He agreed.

“Good. Have fun!” Star forced a wide smile onto her face, baring her teeth at him as he backed out of the room. She watched from Marco's window until they got in Tom's elaborate carriage. She leaned against the window frame. Closing her eyes and taking deep breaths, she waited for her anger to subsided. It was the other thing she had inherited from the Johansen side of the family.

It was strange. Her anger was gone but the rush was still there. Her heart was still pounding, she still felt flushed and breathless. She only realized she was still tied up when she tried to scratch her nose, she'd been so angry at Tom and so thrilled by successfully intimidating him she'd forgotten. All she had felt was a comforting tightness, a feeling of being free.

 _Ah, shit. I let Marco leave without helping me._ Only one choice left unless she wanted to spend all night tied up and standing. It didn't matter how mortifying it would be. Or how exciting it suddenly seemed. Shuffling to the door, she made her way out into the hall.

“Mrs. Diaz? Where are you? I need some help?” She called out to the empty hall.

**~o0o~**

Angelica Diaz, Angie to her friends and family, was sitting in her chair in the bedroom she shared with her husband. She was curled around a first edition of Lord Tennyson's “Poems”, legs tucked underneath her, reviewing the next poem she would assign to her class. She didn't need the book, she knew 'The Lotus-eaters' off by heart, but there was a lingering satisfaction that came from the feel and smell of old paper.

She'd heard the kids go downstairs and head outside a few minutes ago. _I should have asked them how long they were going to be gone. It's been to long since Rafe and I got any... quality time together._ She thought. Being parents didn't give them much opportunity to be intimate beyond the occasional quicky. Those had their appeal, but she missed having the chance to get creative with her husband outside of the monthly play parties they went to.

Star's call took her by surprise. She'd definitely heard two sets of footsteps going downstairs, and the kids hadn't had any visitors today. “Mrs. Diaz? Where are you? I need some help?” Star's voice quivered, echoing in the hallway.

 _Oh, dear._ She could hear the embarrassment and something else, something she didn't allow herself to recognize, in that call. She'd had enough children in the house over the years to know when something was wrong. Star wasn't going to want to talk in the hall. She hoped it was something simple, like her monthly visitor, not a boy problem. Star's mother seemed nice enough, if a bit uptight, and she wouldn't be surprised if the stiff woman hadn't warned her daughter about the more... inconvenient parts of womanhood. Star did look like a late bloomer.

Placing her book carefully back on the shelf, she took a quick glance around the bedroom. Everything seemed hidden. The not-so-decorative loops and eyelets on the brass posts of their bed were free of carabiners, the spanking bench was disassembled and safely disguised as a pair of end-tables and a footrest, flowerpots were hanging from the spreader-bar in the window. All the toys were in the wardrobe. A quick tug on the door of the 'wardrobe' confirmed it was locked.

Star called out again, and she was satisfied that there was nothing visible that she didn't want to explain “I'm in my bedroom, Sweetie. Come on in.” She callled back.

“Really?” She hear in reply.

**~o0o~**

“I'm in my room, sweetie. Come on in.” Angie called back to her, a note of concern in her voice.

“Really!?” Star had never been in the master bedroom. It was the only bedroom that had a lock. She'd been tempted, many times, to use her wand to go snooping but Rafe and Angie were too nice to be that rude to. She shuffled down the hallway to the doorway and fumbled with the knob. The door wouldn't open. “I think it's locked, Mrs. D.”

“It's a pull, not a push, Star.”

“Oh.” Star shuffled to the side, opening the door and walking in. She got her first look at Rafe & Angie's room. It wasn't what she'd expected. The walls were painted a deep, warm red and they were absolutely covered in things that Raphael had carved, cast or painted wherever there wasn't a bookshelf. A fair percentage of the artworks were representations of Angie. The knee-high decorative molding matched the floor, dark brown hardwood polished to a mirror sheen where it was visible. Faded, well worn persian rugs covered a good portion of the floor. An old fashioned candle chandelier hung from the center beam of the ridiculously high vaulted ceiling, and her eyes folloed the heavy duty chain running through a pair of pulleys down to a decorative crank on one wall. Each ceiling beam was painted with a fine tracery of green, the occasional burst of other colors giving the illusion that flowering vines were growing along them. The room was well lit, lamps in each corner and the sun shining down on the burgundy sheets of the big, brass posted bed underneath the window. It felt like walking into the heart of a campfire.

Angie was standing in front of an old, high-backed chair in one corner. Two black-leather topped square stools flanked it, acting as makeshift end-tables. “Oh, Star honey. How on earth did you manage that?” Angie asked, her hand covering her mouth. Star appreciated the effort, but her dimples betrayed the wide smile the auburn haired woman was trying valiantly to hide.

“I found them in the attic, and they were so pretty I had to play with them and then my wrist got tangled and things got worse from there and then I tried to magic my way out but my wand's been acting wonky and it just made things worse and... I need help.” She finished quietly, realizing that she had been babbling.

Angie had walked over, and was circling her to take in the extent of her predicament. Star's heart pounded, and the shivery, tingly feeling intensified. She was getting wet down there. “I still don't understand how you managed this without breaking a single bulb. I'm not going to be able to undo all these knots with them still in. Hold on a second.” Angie walked over to a shelf, pulling out a small wooden box, and returned to her chair. She popped the box down on one of the stools, pushed the footrest to the side and called Star over. “Come here, Star.”

Star shuffled over and stood in front of her. “Now stand still while I take theses bulbs off.” She quickly unscrewed the lights on Star's front, all except the ones wrapped around her thighs. Angie grabbed her shoulders, turning her around. “Lean your head forward, dear.” She told Star, her hands dividing Star's long blond hair and pushing it over her shoulders.

Angie began to unscrew the colored lights from her back, dropping them in the box and humming a little tune. Her fingers brushed against her back as she worked and Star closed her eyes, sucking in her bottom lip. The gentle, motherly touches shouldn't feel so good. She stifled a gasp when Angie's fingers grazed her wings, and she prayed that her surrogate mom hadn't heard it.

“So why isn't Marco helping you?” Angie asked her, having made her way to the lights on the small of her back.

“'Cause my asshole ex-boyfriend, Tom Lucitor, the dork prince of the underworld, showed up, uninvited, with tickets to the movie marathon he wanted to go to tonight, and I got so angry I forgot to make Marco help me before he left.” Star replied. The memory of her anger helped her voice stay steady.

“Marco went out and left you like this? I'm going to have to have a talk with my little man.” Angie leaned back in her chair, sounding a little cross.

“I made him go, it's not his fault Mrs. Diaz.” Star insisted, defending her friend.

“Star, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Angie?” She asked, returning to her task.

“I can't, Mrs. D. My mom would kill me if she heard my call you by your fir...first n..name.” Star stuttered. Was it just her fevered imagination, or were Angie's fingers really lingering in their touches now? Her back was free of lights, Angie was working on the ones on her bottom now, and the teasing touches left her breathless.

“I was miss Phalange before I was Mrs. Diaz, Star, but I've always been Angie. And as much as I respect your mother, her rules have no place in my bedroom. Call me Angie. I **insist**.” Star wasn't going to argue with that voice. Not here. Not now.

The only lights that were now left were on her thighs, and Star wasn't sure if she was dreading or looking forward to Angie removing them. “All right, An..Angie!” Star gasped and squeaked out the name. Angie had stuck her arm between her slightly spread legs to unscrew the lights on her thighs, and as her fingertips rubbed the sensitive skin of one thigh her wrist rubbed the inside of the other. Star nearly toppled. Only Angie's other hand, looped through the wires on he waist, kept her upright.

Angie's touches were lingering. Star could see them now. Each time she undid a bulb she would pull her arm back through Star's legs, so slowly, to drop it in the box, then push her arm back between them, raising the fabric of her dress. The tantalizing torment made it so hard to stay still. She wanted to run, she wanted to hide her face, she wanted to squeeze her legs around that arm and ride it over the edge. She was so close.

And then, with a clink of glass, it was over. The last bulb was gone. Star wanted to cry, to yell, she was so close and it was _over_ , but she couldn't say anything. Not without admitting everything. Angie's hands pressed down on her shoulders, and Star sank to her knees in front of her chair, back pressed against Angie's legs. Angie swept her hands though Star's hair, gathering it up and coaxing it free from where it had tangled in the wires.

The gentle tugs on her hair had pulled Star's head back, tilting her face up to look at the auburn-haired woman. Angie looked flushed. It had to be a trick of the light reflecting off the red of the walls, the red of the bed-sheets, the red of her hair, of her lips. _This shouldn't be happening. I shouldn't be thinking about Marco's mom this way._ She wanted to kiss her.

“We're going to need to do something with this mane of yours before I can get you loose. Do you want a simple braid, or should I take the time to make it beautiful?” Angie asked.

Star wasn't paying attention. Angie's eyes were so green. She repeated the last word she heard Angie say, the only word that seemed to matter. “Beautiful....” Angie's answering smile only made her more beautiful.

 

**Author's Note:**

> And thus concludes another episode of "What the fuck is wrong with me?". Don't worry, more to come in a couple days. Angie's side of the story and more.
> 
> A rough idea of the layout of Angie's bedroom can be found [here](http://starvstheforcesofevil.wikia.com/wiki/File:Mr._and_Mrs._Diaz%27s_bedroom_concept_art.png). Some things are different, namely the design of the bed, but i tried to keep my mental picture close to this.
> 
> *Edit: 1/16/18  
> So I'm working on chapter 2 and I've hit a branch point in the story and can't decide what to do. Should Angie:  
> (A) tease Star some more, set Star loose and then take out her (Angie's) sexual frustration on Rafael OR  
> (B) Set Star loose, then tie Star up properly and fuck her brains out?


End file.
